


When the Blood Runs Out

by ChameleonSerket



Series: Your Blood is My Drug [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Blood, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:26:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2186493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChameleonSerket/pseuds/ChameleonSerket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife. Parvis. Blood Magic *Jazz Hands* Rated teen and up for blood but it's nothing too bad so I wouldn't worry about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oKAY so listen. Listen. It's 2:30 and I wrote this in like 2 hours. I'm so tired. The writing is bad and the tense is all over the place but I had to get this out or I wouldn't have slept tonight. If I regret this in the morning I might take it down. If anyone wants to beta it also go fucking wild, God knows I didn't proof read this. 
> 
> Don't judge me, you know who you are.
> 
> Is this freeform? I don't know what freeform is. Maybe this is freeform.

Strife kept coming back even after Parvis clearly stopped needing him. He kept coming back, and slowly watched himself go from being an all-knowing wise man to being nothing but a nagging gnat in Parvis’ ear. And yet, he kept making that trek to that hideous castle and enabling that filthy magic, again and again. He helped Parvis clear out dungeons when he was barely able to build his own weapons. He helped Parvis hide the entrance to his illegal underground blood magic farm. He watched as Parvis constructed a suit of armour out of gore and sinew that wrapped around him like peeled flesh and fed off his own lifeblood to shield him.

“Don’t worry Strife!” Parvis laughed, “My blood network is solid like rock. Those witches aren’t going anywhere and their blood is my blood, now.” He grinned, and his armour split apart in a facsimile of a smile, white bones poking out like teeth, red rivers running down his face. He licked his lips absent-mindedly as the armour creaked itself shut.

“Don’t _worry_ Strife!” Parvis stretched like a cat in the heat of the nether. “I made an amulet that protects me from fire, watch!” He spread his arms wide and dove into the lava before Strife could grab at him. One second passed, two and Parvis rose from the molten rock like a vengeful god, red and bloody and laughing. He leant on the edge of the fiery lake, kicking his feet like he was in a pool. “Come on in, the lava’s fine!”

“Oh Strife, don’t worry!” Parvis yelled. “I’ll rescue you! I’m basically a superhero now.” He leapt impossibly high off the ground, flinging himself towards the white dragon circling overhead. Strife could do nothing but scramble for cover as another jet of flame lunged towards him. Crouching in the safety of the small building, Strife only heard ripping, and tearing, and laughing. One minute passed, two, and Parvis landed with an earth- shattering crunch in a shower of blood and gore. He extended a red wrapped hand down to Strife and hauled him to his feet. “Let’s get out of the nether, yeah? I don’t want my favourite little mechanic to die!”

He kept coming back. He had a designated bed, opposite Parvis’ in the barracks and Parvis grinned and called Strife his first and bestest cultist. He spent hours re-jigging Parvis’ truly terrible sorting system and got nothing out of it than ruffled hair and blood on his scalp. He figured out how Parvis could grow a vegetable garden so efficient it could to feed a thousand armies and all he received in return was ribbing about not finishing it quickly enough, Strife, c’mon, how are more cultists ever going to join if they don’t have enough to eat?

And yet...

Under all the carnage and bloodshed and exposed tendons of the armour Parvis was still the same sheltered young apprentice Strife once had to walk through seemingly every aspect of life. He was still the kid that screamed when he pulled up Mandrakes and showered Strife in compliments whenever he built anything more complicated than an axe. He was still the same boy that shrieked with delight whenever he flew, although now he flew with blood magic instead of with the jetpack Strife made him. He seemed to delight in the freefall, tilting his head back and opening his arms towards the sky as he plummeted past Strife’s hang glider towards the unforgiving earth. He was still the same Parvis, who experienced life in every way to the full, just augmented now by witches blood and forbidden magic.

Strife coasted down to Parvis’ prone figure expecting to be greeted with a jaw cracking grin and a playful leap away but was instead shocked to find a gore encrusted hand reaching towards him. “Strife... don’t worry but... the armour” and Strife was digging his hands into the muscle winding itself around Parvis, ripping it off piece by piece even as it tried to sink its’ tendrils into Parvis’ skin. He tore frantically at the bleeding armour, digging his apprentice, his kid, his boy out of the clutches of blood magic. Strife peeled the gore and sinew off and threw it away where it lay pulsing and red in the grass and Parvis lay shaking and pale in his arms. “Fuck” Strife swore as he rummaged in Parvis’ ripped backpack for his ceremonial dagger. It was long, too long before he found it and Parvis was grey and gasping. With mute terror Strife sliced his own finger and stuck it in Parvis’ unresisting mouth. “Come on, you bastard. Don’t you dare die on me you piece of shit. Take the blood. Come on.” One second passed, two and he felt Parvis’ tongue lick slowly over the cut. Strife’s eyelashes fluttered and he sighed in relief. “Alright buddy, you’re going to be okay.” Careful to not take his finger out, he maneuvered Parvis into a more comfortable position. “I’m gonna get you to your base, okay? You’re going to be fine.”

It was slow progress, carrying an almost-literal dead weight through secret doors and down stairs but eventually Strife reached the blood altar without any major hiccups. “Jeez Parvis you’re a lump” he said as he leaned the unconscious form against the blood basin. “You ready? This’ll have to be quick.” Strife breathed deeply, one, two, and in a single motion whipped his finger out of Parvis’ mouth and held his arm over the bowl, slicing deep into the soft flesh just below his elbow. He couldn’t help letting out a hiss of pain and crouched down, holding grimly onto the basin rim. Strife watched his blood drip out of his veins into the altar and glanced under his arm at Parvis whose cheeks were already flushing pink even as Strifes’ drained white.

One minute passed, two. Strife was already feeling woozy and Parvis still wasn’t conscious. He started glancing up towards the sorting system; to a chest where he knew villagers were stored in stasis within magical orbs. Could he make it up there and back in time without Parvis dying? Strife knew he had to, or they’d both die here, trapped in this stupid, stupid castle where no one would find their bones. He whipped off his brand new 100% black silk tie and mentally billed it to Parvis while he wrapped it around his self-inflicted wound. As soon as his blood stopped dripping into the altar Parvis went rigid. His eyes were open and staring and his whole body shook, his mouth gaping like a fish. Strife was going to have to be quick.

He ran across the hall, staggered up the stairs and gratefully clutched at the lid of the chest. Strife packed the tiny orbs into his pockets, turned up his shirt hem and cradled them against his stomach, shoved two in his armpits and waddled back to the altar and Parvis’ convulsing form. Strife was relaxing, he was going to make it in time, when Parvis went still and Strife heard screaming coming from somewhere. His own throat? Strife couldn’t tell. He dropped the orbs on the floor, smashed one against the stone side of the altar, deftly grabbed the confused villager and slit its’ throat over the altar before it had a chance to get it’s bearings, shook it until it was limp and drained of blood and shoved the body away down the altar steps. Strife did this again and again until dead villagers were piled on the ground, the altar was filled to the brim with bright red blood and Parvis was pink and sleeping.

Strife slid down, his back against the rough stone, to sit beside Parvis. He was absolutely covered in blood. The armour’s blood, the villagers’ blood, his blood, Strife was covered head to toe. He could already feel it starting to dry on his skin but he was so... tired. He tried to stop his eyelids drooping but maybe just a minute of rest would be okay. One minute, two and he’d get up and wash himself off. Just one minute...

He was woken by a tongue dragging slowly across his cheek and opened his eyes to a slightly startling close up of Parvis’ intense face, with eyes blown so wide they were almost black. “I can always tell what blood is yours. It’s the one that’s like strawberries,” Parvis gasped. “You taste so good Strife, you always do.” He dipped his head down to suck at Strifes’ neck who couldn’t help but gulp and clutch weakly at Parvis’ thin hips. He was trembling, they were both trembling, and Parvis fumbled at Strife’s top button and broke into nervous laughter. He rested his forehead against Strifes’. “I...I want more of your blood Strife. I want more of you. You’re so delicious.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much blood left in me, Parv.” Strife’s hands found their way under Parvis’ shirt and traced up his back. “You’ve already taken all of it from me.”

Parvis shifted, his forearms braced against the stone on either side of Strifes’ head, legs straddling Strifes’ lap. “I’m sorry Strife. I’m sorry I took it. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” He dropped eye contact and hung his head, groaning heavily.

“Don’t worry, Parvis.” Strife smiled. He pulled one hand out of the grimy tee shirt and cupped Parvis’ chin, forcing him to look up. “You’ve already taken all of me,” he sighed and pulled his apprentice, his kid, his boy, his clever little blood mage deep onto his own shaking lips.

Strife will always keep coming back for Parvis.


	2. In the Shallows of the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no way Strife was going to just sit around coated in blood. He's a businessman, for Notch's sake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will I ever learn how to use tense and apostrophes correctly? The magic eight ball says answer unclear, try again later.
> 
> UH okaayy here's chapter twoooo, I hope you enjoy it theres nothing fun like bloodplay (this time) but aren't I just a sucker for hurt/comfort.
> 
> Wow, you sure do write quick, ChameleonSerket! Yeah I absolutely do, especially when I'm furiously avoiding an assignment. 
> 
> Once more, just in case: Don't judge me, you know who you are <3\. I love you.

One hour and a temporary link into the blood network later, Strife was scowling at the fountain in the courtyard.

“Do you mean to tell me that this is the only running water you have on this entire fucking ugly-ass rock of yours?”

Parvis was still covered in red, just like Strife and his smile cracked the dried blood around his eyes. With a stomach-wrenching lurch Strife recalled the fractured earth around Parvis’ body, the armour sucking his life away. “Well, yeah, this thing didn’t come with plumbing, it’s a medieval castle! What’s the big deal?”

“The big _deal_ , Parvis, is that I’m dipping in blood. Look at me. Look at my clothes. This kind of style doesn’t come cheap you know. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to salvage this shirt,” Strife grumbled, plucking hopelessly at the maroon fabric.

“Strife you really do worry too much. I just wash in the ocean, watch!” Parvis crouched, gathering his slim muscles and leapt right over the castle barricade with a whoop. Strife heard a splash and sighed. No way was he getting into the sea. It was way too cold this time of year and he’d never liked large bodies of water and besides,

Parvis’ voice came floating over the wall. “Come on in, the water’s fine!”

Strife pouted and sucked his lips and immediately regretted his decision, tasting thick dark iron. He spluttered futilely and spat red onto the grass. Strawberries? Parvis didn’t know what he was talking about. Blood was disgusting. Strife was disgusting, right now. He rubbed his hands over his flaking cheeks and sighed. Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to shower in a stagnant fountain and if his only other option was... Strife groaned to himself and pushed the button that opened the seaward gate. He waded in, fully clothed, and regretted every stupid, freezing step into the ocean. One hand on the rough stone wall, Strife sloshed waist deep towards the shore. It would be easier to wash his clothes there, he reasoned, and easier to find a place to sit. Stolen villager blood pumping though his veins aside, he didn’t have much strength left and he could feel his muscles straining with every exertion. He was going to sweat off all the blood on his face, and wasn’t that embarrassing?

“Good _lord_ I need to work out more,” Strife groaned, flopping himself into the shallows. It was warmer here, heated by the sun and the chiseled rock was hot against his back. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine he was on a deserted tropical island somewhere, instead of on a... well, on an almost deserted tropical island somewhere. His eyes flickered towards Parvis playing in the sea, using blood magic to rocket himself out of the water and turning in the sky to splash down in a cascade of red and silver droplets. Not an hour had passed since he had basically died in Strifes’ arms and Parvis was back to full strength. Strife smiled despite himself, shook his head softly and began stripping his bloody, wet clothes off.

He was concentrating so hard on making his weak fingers function enough to undo the buttons on his shirt that he didn’t notice Parvis leaping towards the castle until he landed heavily in the water right in front of Strife’s outstretched feet.

“Jesus, Parvis, give me some warning you crazed maniac,” Strife spluttered, wiping the salt spray out of his eyes and returning to worry at his buttons. “You could have drowned me.” Parvis just smirked and watched Strife struggle. Then frowned, suddenly concerned.

“Are you okay? You’re having a bit of uh, trouble there.”

“Yes, I’m _fine_ I just,” Strife moaned and leaned his head back against the wall. “No. No I’m not okay. You nearly died Parvis. That potty wizard magic armour nearly killed you and I nearly died to save you and now I’m covered in blood and my fingers are so numb I can’t even take off my own shirt and I’m so-”

Parvis shifted forward onto Strife’s legs, reached out and gently removed Strife’s hands from his shirt. “Here. Let me help.” and he deftly, quickly, professionally undid the buttons that Strife couldn’t. “Lean forward.”

Strife could only obey. He rested his forehead on Parvis’ slim shoulder and rocked away from the wall. Parvis cradled him in with one arm and whipped the ruined top away with the other, throwing it towards the shore. Strife sighed.  His favourite shirt was definitely not salvageable. Parvis leaned back on Strifes’ lap, shifted his hips and tucked Strifes’ right shoulder under his chin so their torsos were plastered together with blood and water like puzzle pieces connecting for the first time. Strife couldn’t protest, not even on principle, and he felt Parvis grin, all joy and scraping teeth, just beside his ear. Parvis drew small circles on his back with a thumb.

“Don’t worry Strife,” he whispered. “It’s my turn to take care of you.” Strifes’ eyelids flickered shut as Parvis’ hands splashed softly beside him, bringing up water to his gore-encrusted hair. The massage in his scalp was intoxicating and Parvis’ breath was hot on his neck but the rivulets of dirty water seeping down his back were so cold Strife couldn’t help but shiver and bite softly into Parvis’ shoulder to stop his teeth from chattering. Parvis hissed sharply and let him.

One minute, two and it was so good, so good to be taken care of but Strife’s back was starting to hurt and his legs were going numb and something needed to give. When he had gathered enough strength he placed his hands on Parvis’ soft stomach and pushed him gently back, folding upwards with a groan. Parvis let go immediately and his hands clenched into nervous fists.

“Did I do something wrong? Strife I didn’t mean to...” Parvis dropped his chin and glanced up though his eyelashes, looking for all the world like a guilty puppy. “I’ll just, I’ll let you-”

“Parvis,” Strife breathed, “No, you’re not, you could never...” he gave up and laughed instead. “I’m just not very comfortable. My legs are getting pins and needles.”

“Oh. Oh!” and Parvis scrambled up, towering over Strife and offering a hand that Strife gladly accepted. “There’s a little rock step on the beach, would that be better?”

Strife nodded, inching his way up to a vaguely upright position. Gods, he was so tired. He was so sore. He tried to take a step but wavered and Parvis was there, taking his weight over his shoulders, slipping a small hand around his waist, squeezing Strife tight against his side.

“You’re going to have to walk a little bit, I can’t carry you.”

“Are you calling me fat?” Strife managed to mumble around a small grin.

‘No I’m not calling you fat!” Parvis laughed, pressing a kiss into Strife’s hair. “You’re just stronger than me.”

The rocky outcrop was chair-like, scoured smooth by years of waves and small enough for Strife to sit comfortably, lower legs dangling into the deep ocean. He rested his head back, rolling it over to his shoulder and gazing at Parvis sitting nervously in the shallow water by his side.

“What.”

Parvis shrugged and giggled and his hands clenched and unclenched. “I just, I thought, well.” His eyes flashed side to side as if looking for an escape route. “You’re still covered in blood.” He finished lamely.

Strife understood. He opened his knees, leaving a space for Parvis to kneel between and bowed his head in silent permission. Parvis moved quick. He always moves quick, adrenaline shaking out of his skin in bursts of energy. It must be hard for him, Strife mused faintly. To slow down enough to let Strife catch up all the time.

Parvis hovered his hands over Strifes’ chest but didn’t breach the final aching single inch between their skin, a thousand miles in Strifes’ mind.

“Parvis, are you teasing me? I’ll thank you to remember who the boss is around here. Underlings aren’t allowed to tease their boss.”

Parvis bit his lip. “No I just. I need you to tell me this isn’t a mistake. I can’t wake up tomorrow and pretend this didn’t happen. This is it, Strife. This is me still being your friend. This is me still being nothing but your friend but I can’t, I can’t do this anymore if you don’t, uh, if you d-d,” he shook his head, his teeth clamping down hard on the stutter.

“Oh Parvis, don’t worry.” Strife murmured. “I’m too far gone to regret this.” He plucked at the hem of Parvis’ shirt and Parvis let him draw it up, raising his slim arms over his head and ducking down out of the saturated fabric. Strife drank him in, thin pale, wet, panting, with white knotted flesh that scoured its way around Parvis, trapping him in a fishnet that reeked of blood magic. “Notch’s sake Parv, you’ve got a lot of scars.”

“Yeah, well,” Parvis grinned, running his fingers over his wet torso. “I made a bit of a mess of myself, didn’t I? Filling that altar wasn’t easy.”

“I’ll make a mess of you if you don’t stop dicking around and start washing this blood off of me,” Strife grumbled with a smirk. Parvis didn’t hesitate again.

Strife let himself go boneless in the sun, feeling the water lap around his waist and the rock digging ever so slightly into his back and long fingered hands wiping him down, cleaning the evidence of the day away. Fingernails scraped at his skin, worrying away the caked on blood, scratching him pink and clean and new again. He wanted to do the same to Parvis. He wanted to wash away all evidence of the terror he felt when Parvis stopped breathing. A hand slipped into his hair and he took the opportunity to do the same, trailing his fingers up past shaking ribs and wrapping his legs around Parvis’ hips, rolling up even as he pulled Parvis down.

Parvis gasped into Strifes’ mouth, opened eyed with shock, legs twitching, pupils as black as night. Strife tangled his fingers tighter into the dark hair and moving his other hand down to Parvis’ pants. And paused, frowning.

“An elasticated waistband, really?” He slipped a finger inside and snapped it. Parvis yelped. “I suppose I should be glad that you were wearing anything at all underneath that armour. But honestly, take some pride in your appearance. This is embarrassing.”

“It’s for easy access!” Parvis whined, pouting, flirting. “And it’s far easier than your stupid, stupid dumb, belt,” he said, fumbling at it as he tried to ignore Strife slowly slipping his “easy access” pants down, running his hands over the newly exposed flesh, unable to hide his desire, unable to stop laughing at Parvis wrestling with the buckle.

“You’re ridiculous Parv. Have you never worn a belt before? You’re basically a savage.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll show you savage!” Parvis laughed and gave up, launching himself at Strife, kicking his pants off and pressing his body close. He clawed gently at every piece of Strifes' exposed skin. “I’ll savage you.”

Perhaps soon they’d move inside and get dry and figure all of this mess out, Strife thought. He might even teach Parvis how to undo a belt buckle. But right now, with the sun warm on their skin and the tropical water lapping at their thighs and Parvis stretched out in Strifes’ arms naked and confident and filled to the brim with lazy kisses and oh, so beautiful, this was enough.

For now, this was enough.


End file.
